


Know the Sun When it Shines

by startwithsparks



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Blackmail, F/M, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-08
Updated: 2012-08-08
Packaged: 2017-11-11 17:14:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/480928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/startwithsparks/pseuds/startwithsparks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After getting caught in an embrace, the Hound has to take certain measures to make sure his relationship with the king's betrothed stays a secret.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Know the Sun When it Shines

It was never a good time for Sansa to steal down to the godswood in the hope that it might be the night she finally tasted freedom. On the nights when the city was quiet, which were becoming rarer and rarer, the guards at her door were attentive and quick to direct her back into her quarters if she so much as looked to step out. No amount of pleading or begging moved them - some struck her, some simply threatened to tell Joffrey that she was traipsing around the castle late at night. She'd often thought to go to the Imp and plead with him to find her new guards, but when her alternatives were mountain men who terrified her or sellswords who stared at her indecently, she almost preferred to look out and see Lannister red and gold. The only time she could slip out was when the clamor of the city drew the guards from their posts and into the streets, but then the sounds of shouting and swords was almost enough to draw her back in again. She must be brave, she told herself, if she ever wanted to get out of this city.

There were fires in the city again tonight, Sansa could see them from her window, casting the buildings in an angry orange glow. She remembered the day of the riots, the day they sent the princess away, and how she hadn't understood why the people were so angry. Her nights with the Hound had enlightened her to that, as he indelicately explained exactly why the people were rising up against the Lannisters. Now she saw the dancing flames as the city's anger taken shape, spread across every corner. If there was ever a time for her to slip out unnoticed, it would be now.

Sansa dressed quickly and stepped into her shoes, pulling a dark cloak around her shoulders. When she cracked open the door, no longer locked thanks to Tyrion Lannister's intervention, she found the corridor beyond surprisingly empty. Not even the Imp's sellswords roamed the halls. Sansa felt her heart leap into her throat and she bore forward quickly into the corridor, cloak trailing behind her, eager not to lose this opportunity. If they were only changing shifts, she didn't have much more than a moment to wind her way down the hall and make for the godswood. Her feet pattered lightly, the soles of her shoes scraping against the stone with each footfall, the only sound that echoed off the walls at all. That was, at least, until Sansa rounded a sharp corner and barely had time to skitter to a stop as a heavy boot plodded behind her and someone snatched the corner of her cloak.

She reeled around, snatching the dark fabric in both hands, her eyes meeting an old and dented breastplate. She knew at once who it was, and that didn't stop his heart from beating at breakneck speed.

"Where are you flitting off to now, little bird?" he rasped, his hand fisting tighter in the cloak, twisting it around his fingers.

Sansa stared up at him, tugging her cloak back in the opposite direction, but each time she took a fistful of fabric so did he, drawing them closer and closer together. "I needed to go to the godswood," she answered, swallowing thickly.

He had the end of her cloak wrapped around two bare hands now and she, the fabric wrapped tightly around her shoulders and down her waist, had a hold on the other edge as if she could pull it around her back and free of his grip. She knew it was impossible, that the only good she did was to wrap herself tighter in it, tighter against him, between the mass of his body and the equally unmoving expanse of the wall. It didn't help that every inch he gained he took a step forward as well.

"The godswood," he repeated, canting his head slowly. "This isn't a night to pray, little bird. It's a night to stay inside where it's safe."

"For you, perhaps..." Sansa shot back, ducking her head as a smirk flickered across his lips.

"Clever," he muttered, taking another step towards her and finally pinning her against the wall. He balled the end of the fabric in on hand, pressing the other against the wall at her bare side. "But why would you want to go out there when it's here that's empty?"

Sansa felt her cheeks warm as her shoulders pressed into the stone, staring wide-eyed up at him. "I need to go."

He dropped her cloak, raising his hand instead to cup her face and tilt it up towards him. "You need to stay," he answered, and she smelled the faint trace of honey wine on his breath. He stroked her cheek with his thumb, fingers running back through her hair and toying with the curls that fell loosely around her shoulders.

She drew in a breath, straightening up against the wall, and finally abandoned the other edge of her cloak as well. Instead, her hands lifted and settled on his chest, raising up on her toes to press her lips against his. He'd been lingering there, waiting for it, and with no one around she saw no reason she shouldn't give him what he had come for. That was all the encouragement he needed, it seemed, as his arm slid around her waist and pulled her body in against the unforgiving expanse of his chest. She preferred him without his armor, of course, but she was counting on stolen moments now and wouldn't go around being ungrateful for the ones she was given.

Tipping her head down, Sansa slowly withdrew from the kiss with a shy smile, slowly looping her arms around his shoulders until she heard a gasp from the other end of the corridor. Sansa dropped her arms away quickly and felt him pull away with a speed she hadn't felt so close to her before. Slowly, she glanced towards the sound and saw one of Cersei's handmaidens standing at the end of the hall with her hand clasped over her mouth. Sansa thought her heart was going to stop.

The girl took a step back, her eyes huge and wide, staring at the Hound in a mixture of terror and scorn. She edged another step down the all, and another, before she turned to run.

"Stop!" Sansa yelled back at her, causing the girl to pause for only a moment. "I'll give you anything," she said, her voice desperate and strained "anything you want, at all, you can have it... just don't tell."

She hesitated, clutching at a small charm around her neck, and looked back over her shoulder very slowly at them. "I want him gone," she said, nodding at the Hound. "Say he forced himself, and I won't tell the queen what really happened."

At the edge of her vision, she saw his jaw clench and his shoulders tense back, but Sansa reached over for his hand and, without hesitating, shook her head.

That was all it took before the girl was barreling off down the corridor again and, with a faint brush of his fingers along her cheek, the Hound started off after her. "Go to the godswood," he said, voice tense, "and wait for me there. Do not leave," he growled, turning the corner with his head down and his shoulders hunkered forward.

Sansa had only felt fear like this once before, in the moments leading up to her father's execution. It was that heavy realization that something terrible was about to happen and she was in no way equipped to stop it, that baited feeling of loss, just waiting for the moment when the sword fell. Shaking, she clutched her cloak around her body and braced a hand against the wall. He'd told her to run, and Sansa knew when to follow that order. She turned down the other short hall and made a break down the stairs, trying not to stumble over her skirts as she ran. Too many thoughts to control seemed to rush through her mind, one after another - what if he didn't catch her in time, what if they ran into someone on the way and she told them everything, what if someone caught Sansa and she wasn't in the godswood when he arrived, what if tonight was the night she would leave this city and the last she ever saw of him was him walking away from her like that, with the threat looming over them both.

Before she realized where she was, grass crunched under her feet and Sansa found herself in the open courtyard of the godswood. Breathing heavy, she slumped down on a stone bench and stared vacantly at the flames still lapping the horizon. She pulled her cloak tighter around herself, fingers falling to the bit of strained and rumpled fabric where the Hound's fingers had twisted and pulled it out of shape.

She fell into a daze after that, with the panic settling on her shoulders and lulling her off. The sound of the city around her blending together until it became little more than a dull, warm roar in the background. Even her eyes unfocused, suddenly tired and as if she'd only now realized the real extent of her capture here. In a moment everything she had could be threatened, taken away from her, by even the most mundane of servants. They would all betray her at a moment's notice because, to them, she was nothing more than a traitor's daughter. Now she sat there waiting - for the fires to die down, for the sun to rise, for his hand to sweep her hair off her neck as he settled down next to her.

Sansa tilted her head gently to the side, subconsciously baring the curve of her neck to the night air, and for a moment she thought she felt fingertips trace the skin there, but it was only the wind whipping curls of her hair along her skin; until it wasn't. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him, a great dark mass blotting out the orange sky beyond the wall, as his armor chattered together when he sat. She looked over, blinking her gaze back into focus, staring at the blood splattered across his face. Her gut twist - unable to decide if she should feel relieved or horrified and the one feeling fighting hard against the other.

"What happened?" she murmured.

The Hound shrugged, glancing off towards the far wall. "Poor girl," he replied flatly, "should have known better than to venture out into the city on a night like tonight; anything can happen, any manner of terrible things." He looked back at her, "And you'd best act surprised if anyone mentions such a thing to you."

She didn't have to ask any more than that, she just nodded in return and hugged her arms around her waist. But slowly he reached out for her, prying one of her hands away from her body and drawing it towards him with her palm towards the sky. Slowly he unfurled the fingers of his other hand and let drop into her palm a dozen small hair pins with flat white stones on the ends, smeared in blood. She'd seen them only briefly, as the girl was running away from them, pinning her straw-colored hair up off her shoulders. Sansa stared at them for a moment before closing her hand and meeting the Hound's gaze.

"Say they were a gift," he explained, "if you choose to say anything at all." Then he folded his hands and rest his elbows on his knees, facing away from the godswood. "Sing your songs to the gods, little bird..." he murmured, "we'll all be needing them tonight."


End file.
